“Okay. Put her here and I’ll take a look. Was there a collar or anything with her name on it?”
“Nah, but I’ve been calling her Junkyard.” He puts her down gently, careful of a swollen, bloody, front paw.
“Junkyard? What were my new best friends thinking? You’re too pretty for that, aren’t you baby?” I look into her golden brown eyes and then up at Piston. “How about Princess?”
“Fuck no,” he says with a snort.
I’m not an idiot, and I’m definitely not naive. The Screaming Eagles are basically a law unto themselves in this city, and their ruthless reputation is well earned, but they aren’t sadistic boogeymen either. Don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you. When I was younger, guys like these were exactly my kind of trouble and I was more than happy to seek it out. Drove my big sister Natalie crazy.
Figures that she’d be the one to end up hitched to three of them.
Beast, Piston and Zero don’t seem to know about my connection to the club, though, so it must be chance that brought them to my door. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something about Natalie and her old men, but then I don’t. Keeping it to myself seems wiser, at least if I don’t want to get another speech from her about looking for trouble.
Instead, I get my supplies ready and shoo Beast and Zero away from the exam table. "I need room to work. Go loom somewhere else." To my surprise, they listen. I look up at Piston. “Can you hold her while I check her injuries? I can muzzle or sedate her if I have to, but she seems to trust you and I’d rather not stress her out if I don’t have to.”
“Of course. You’ll be good for the nice lady, right Junkyard?” His voice is rich and soothing. Just gravely enough to tickle nicely in my chest. Princess Junkyard seems to agree, because she looks up at him like he hung the moon. Good taste, girl.
When I reach for her paw, she whines and tugs it away but doesn’t snap or growl as I gently take it in my hand. Slowly and carefully, I use warm water to rinse off the blood and dirt so I can see what we’re working with. She shivers in Piston’s arms, but seems to understand that we’re trying to help. There’s a lot of swelling, but I think he was right. The movement is fine and nothing feels broken. The only obvious injury is a slow trickle of blood seeping from a puncture wound between her toes.
“I think it looks worse than it is. I bet she got into a fight and got bitten.” I rinse the small hole thoroughly, first with warm water and then with an antiseptic solution before using some ointment and bandaging everything up. “It’s going to hurt for a few days but if it doesn’t get infected it should heal quickly.” I check aspot of blood under her jaw, finding and cleaning up a small cut that should heal fine on its own. My hands run gently over her, checking for injuries that might be hiding.
“Something wrong?” Beast asks.
“Not that we can fix,” I say with a sigh. “These sorts of mixes are popular with people who want a dog that makes them look tough. They seem to think treating them like crap will toughen them up. Some of her injuries are from running loose, but she should really put on some weight, and she has a lot of old injuries, like her ear. That didn’t just happen.”
“I noticed the collar mark,” Piston says darkly.
I nod, tracing a faint, healed scar on her neck where the hair has grown back in a little funny. A collar or rope was likely left too long when she was a puppy and started digging in. “I don’t want to judge without knowing the situation, though. Our foster families get a lot of grief because people assume they’re the ones mistreating the dogs when it’s the exact opposite.” I pull the chip scanner out of the drawer, running it over her neck and back. Nothing. “No microchip, so Princess probably hasn’t been through a shelter before.”
“Junkyard,” Beast corrects, grinning when I roll my eyes.
Piston strokes a finger down her muzzle, already half in love. “You said you would keep her for at least a week, right? To see if her owners show up?”
“Yeah. Technically without a chip we don’t have to wait that long, but we usually do unless we’re running out of space. In a case like this, where she’s young and seems like she hasn’t been a stray very long, we want to give her the best chance we can.Did you want to give me your number so I can let you know what happens?”
“If you want my number, honey, all you have to do is ask,” Zero purrs.
I fix him with a glare that probably isn’t very scary considering how warm my cheeks feel. “I was asking Piston.”
Beast laughs. “Harsh.”
Would they be just as flirty if they knew I was crashing in the spare bedroom of three of their fellow Screaming Eagles? Maybe, maybe not. Quickshot, Animal and Badass treat me like a little sister, but I’m twenty-three. My love life isn’t any of their business. Still, I owe my sister everything and there’s a niggling worry in the back of my head that Nat wouldn’t approve.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Flirting is fun, but I don’t need to make my life any more complicated than it already is.
I look down and focus on Junkyard instead, taking measurements and checking her weight. I take some treats out of the cupboard and put one on the table at her feet. She scarfs it down immediately. I put down a second and leave my hand there for a moment. Her attention is totally fixed on the treat, but she’s polite about it, nudging my fingers to the side without nipping or growling. "She’s well behaved.”
Piston laughs. "Of course she is, that’s my daughter you’re talking about." His expression grows more serious. “If the people who had her were abusing her, do you still have to give her back?”
The question makes me feel a little sick. “I wish I could say no, but it can be hard to prove. It’s not like I can just steal people’sanimals because I get a bad feeling.” Junkyard nuzzles my hand, licking at the scent of the treats.
"That’s fucked up," Beast snarls, giving me a little glimpse of what he hides underneath the manners.
I like it. It feels real. "It is. Trust me, working here makes me wish I could punch people sometimes." I grin up at him and the smile I get in return sends a little lick of heat through my chest.
He pats his belt. "I’d do fucking better than that."
I suck in a little breath at the reminder that they’re probably all armed. For a moment I’m fifteen again. Surrounded by men who used fear to convince me I needed what they had to offer. Scared to stay. Scared to go home and be reminded I didn’t really have one anymore.
